


When None Pursueth

by Black_Hole_of_Procrastination



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 22:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4894750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Hole_of_Procrastination/pseuds/Black_Hole_of_Procrastination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ned would never forgive himself if some harm were to come to Miss Stark. </p>
<p>Vaguely ’True Grit’-inspired/Western AU.<br/>Originally Written for the Game of Ships Challenge</p>
            </blockquote>





	When None Pursueth

Ned cast a worried glance to where the Marshal lay sleeping, his hat tipped low over his eyes.

It was fortunate that Clegane had fired wide and only clipped the Marshal in the shoulder, a clean exit that had been stitched and dressed with little fuss. Still, Ned knew that just a few inches to the left and the bullet would have found its way to something much more dire.

_“Beric’s got more lives than a cat!“_

That is what Harwin said after their scrape at Mummer’s Ford. Ned was of a mind to agree with him. It was Ned who pulled the Marshal from the river that day and it was by providence he delivered him to Thoros for doctoring just in time. 

Thoros was a preacher known about these parts, but before he found religion he’d had a trade as a veterinary back east. There wasn’t a man for miles with a steadier hand when it came to pulling teeth or stitching wounds, provided he was sober and you didn’t mind a little speechifying on ‘hellfire’ as he worked.

Ned had turned up more than half-a-dozen times with the Marshal looking as close to death’s door as a body could be only for Thoros to restore him to his usual stout self. For this, the preacher had earned Ned’s gratitude and the Marshal’s trust and confidence.

_If only the preacher were here and not off carousing round Texarkana way. Perhaps he could persuade the Marshal away from this foolish course._

The plan stood as follows: On the morrow, Ned was to escort Miss Stark and her companion to the nearest depot and put them on the first train east. Meanwhile, the Marshal and Anguy would continue on in pursuit of Payne.

Ned did not much care for the plan. He thought foolhardy, particularly now that Payne had joined up with Clegane’s gang of riffraff. The Marshal and Anguy were sure to be the outnumbered party and with the Marshal now injured and Ned traveling too far to offer assistance…no, he did not like it at all.

He was not the only one who was displeased.

When the Marshal had laid out his intentions, Miss Stark worked herself into an awful temper, hurling all manner of threats and accusations. But no amount of haranguing on her part would move the Marshal. Tomorrow she would be on a train bound for home and that was the matter closed.

Miss Stark had stalked off in a foul mood and they were all content to let her sulk a while.

Come suppertime Gendry had ventured out with a plate of salt pork and cornbread intended for Arya only to return shortly after scowling and muttering under his breath. Anguy had been all too happy to snatch the still full plate of vittles, scraping its contents onto his own tin plate and tucking in eagerly. The cocky French tracker was too occupied shoveling spoonfuls into his mouth to carry on with his usual prattling, leaving the rest of their party to sit in tense silence.

Ned sighed.

He missed having Arya around the cookfire. Though they had only been ‘trail pards’ a short while, he’d become mighty fond of Miss Stark.

She was so different from the girl’s he’d known back in Louisiana. The young ladies he was acquainted with had filled their hours playing music, and setting up preserves, and stitching quilts for the church bizarre, not riding across the bald prairie with only a blacksmith and an old Colt Dragoon pistol for protection.

Arya Stark was braver than most men grown. She was kind and funny, though she had a tongue like an adder when provoked. And while she was dressed as a man and just as filthy and worn as at the rest of them, Ned could not deny there was something becoming about a pair of fine eyes peering up from that pale, solemn face.

They’d had some lively times on the trail and he would be sorry to part from her, but he knew the Marshal had the right of it (at least where Arya was concerned). It was not right for a young lady to be among such rough company and after today’s misadventure it was clear it was not safe either. Ned would never forgive himself if some harm were to come to Miss Stark.

He had the notion that when all this was finished he might call on Winterfell Farm the next time he found himself in that part of the country. It seemed silly to think on now, especially since, for the part he would play in what was to come, he feared he would not be as welcomed there as he once hoped.

Arya would fight him every step of the way to train depot, of that he was certain, and she would hate him once the deed was done.

Ned frowned.  _There will be no peace these next few days if I cannot make her see sense!_ Resolved to do just that, Ned rose from his place at the fire in search of Arya.

He did not walk far. She had settled herself on a stump near the line where the horses were tied.

“Hidy,” he greeted. “Fine night.”

Arya ignored him. The collar of the old army coat she wore was turned up against the cold, hiding most of her face, but he could still see her brow furrow.

Ned approached her mount, a pretty grey mare, and held out a piece of dried apple. The horse took it happily, far less ornery than her rider.

Nymeria. That was what Arya called her. Ned smiled, the name reminding him of old tales and  _home_. The horse nudged his side with its head and Ned obligingly pulled another piece of apple from his coat pocket.

“I will not go back,” Arya finally spoke, her voice firm. “Not without Payne, dead or alive.”

Ned did not argue with her. Not right away. Instead, he paused to run a hand over Nymeria’s nose, picking over his words carefully.

“The Marshal’s a man of his word, Miss Stark. He’ll bring Illyn Payne to justice. I promise you.”

Arya laughed. It was nothing like the laughter they had shared on the trail, but instead a bitter, twisted thing.

“Don’t you talk to me about justice, for I’ll get none from you!” she said. “A bounty. That’s all you and your Marshal are after, and you’re fools for thinking you’ll get it. Not for Payne, anyway.”

Ned scowled. That she thought he was here solely for some mercenary reason pricked his pride.

“We are officers of the court, Miss Stark. It is our sworn duty to see Payne brought to trial.”

“And then what?” she mocked, rising to her feet. “What judge is going to hang a Lannister gun?”

Ned felt his own fury stirring. His mother had taught him never to raise his voice in anger to a lady, and by God he tried to heed her words, but he was certain his mother had never been faced with a lady as mulish and bullheaded as Arya Stark.

“So you mean to pursue Payne by yourself?” he rounded on her. “To seek  _justice_  by your own hand?“

She raised her chin defiantly.

“Yes, if I have to. But I would much rather proceed with you and the Marshall. After all, I have paid you $100 to apprehend Payne and I mean to see it done.” 

“Miss Stark, it is too dangerous –”

“Too dangerous?” A look of hurt crossed her face. “I have come this far have, have I not? Were it not for Gendry and me, you all might have been shot to pieces today.”

Ned sighed.

It was true. Arya had more than won her spurs, and he knew it was foolish to underestimate her. She had somehow survived that massacre at Fort Harrenal, and had more grit and determination than anyone he’d ever met. She was as wily as a fox, a fine rider, and more than a decent shot with her Pa’s old service revolver. But Ned knew none of that would be enough when it came to facing a hired gun.

“Miss Stark, you have more than proven yourself,” he said. “But Illyn Payne is a killer.” 

“You think I don’t know that?” she cried feelingly. “Illyn Payne shot my Pa down in the street like a dog! Right in front of everyone! In front of  _me!_ I know plain well what kind of man he is.”

Her fine eyes were bright with tears. She angrily tried to dash them away with her sleeves, but some were already running down her face, leaving dirty tracks on her cheeks.

Ned stared at her, feeling shocked and useless. It seemed too forward to draw her to him for comfort as he wished to, so instead he settled for pulling a square of flannel from the breast pocket of his vest and offering it to her. She accepted it and turned away from him.

All was quiet save for her occasional soft sniffle and the distant murmur of voices by the fire. Ned rocked back on his heels, desperately searching for something to say.

“I saw your Pa once,” he finally ventured. “It was in King’s Landing. At the fair. I’d heard tales about him from my father and I wanted to go over to speak to him only…well, only I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t make me sound a fool. He was with your sister watching the bronc riding and right before it began Loras Tyrell handed her a red ro—”

“Rose,” she finished, meeting his eye. 

“Were you there too, Miss Stark?” he asked, surprised. He was certain he would have taken notice of a girl like Arya Stark.

She shook her head, handing back the hanky. Ned wrapped his hand around hers as he took it. He flushed when he realized what he’d done but held firm, determined to say his piece.

“I do not need a bounty to do my duty, Miss Stark,” he said. “From all telling, you’re father was a good man. Good men deserve justice.”

Arya paused, considering him.

He was surprised by how delicate and small her hand felt beneath his fingers. It did not seem to fit with the steely young girl he’d come to admire.

He was even more surprised when Arya’s face broke into a soft smile.

“I thank you for that, Deputy.”

She gave his hand a squeeze, before pulling away and heading back in the direction of the cookfire.

Ned lingered by the horses a moment longer, feeling strangely lightheaded.

He was not certain what awaited him in the morning. What he did know was that he would give anything for Arya Stark to smile at him once more.


End file.
